Bad Beat
by Gertrude-04
Summary: Remy POV. When he unexpectedly returns to the mansion, he finds some things will never change, and others will never be the same. Chapter Two up! Please read and review.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: None of these glorious people belong to me. The ultimate heartbreaker.

A/N: I've had the beginning of this on paper for as long as I can remember writing, and I figured it was about time I did something with it. I'm not generally a fan of my first pov stuff, but this seemed to turn out okay. Let me know what you guys think.

Second Chance: I'd like to thank everyone for their input on my other story, but I've hit a rather impenetrable road block. If anyone has any inspiration, any thoughts on there it could go I'd greatly appreciate. E-mail your ideas to me, or just post them on the review page. Thanks again!

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A few tears would've been nice. A period of mourning would've been better, but hey, I understand. These are busy people, with little to no time in their lives for bereavement of any kind. But still, I couldn't ignore the thought that maybe if they knew what I'd gone through, the tremendous amount of pain my body had experienced, and still was, maybe there would've been some marker of my life on the property. I had searched the grounds already, it was the first thing I'd done after getting past the security system, which was ridiculously easy considering I'd designed it myself. But the two hours I'd spent doing that had been a waste. My search yielded nothing. No monument, no tombstone, not even a plaque. It was as if I'd never lived here, had never risked my life countless times for something I didn't even believe in. It was intensely frustrating.

My legs were beginning to cramp from the tight position I'd been holding them in, but still I didn't move. Even at a few minutes to midnight, Xavier's Mansion was still bustling with activity. More windows than not showed bright light from within. A small part of me, the same part that had been a little hurt when no one had come back for me, missed the liveliness of the place. Those few times I had wanted company, there was never a lack for it. On a different note, the many more times I wished for solitude, it was nearly impossible to find. But despite the numerous fights I had started, the countless lectures I bore witness to, and the innumerable amount of training sessions I'd slept through, no other place had felt more like home than this one.

I shifted slightly in my arboreal perch; since returning from the southern wasteland most commonly referred to as Antarctica, my frostbite suffering feet were entirely too sensitive. Whether it was the lack of circulation reaching them, or being stuck in my boots for too long, I couldn't be sure, but they were protesting. Loudly. A doctor I had seen in Australia during my return trip from the place of my apparent death had prescribed for me, under the table, a bottle of painkillers as well as a round of antibiotics to fight the pnuemonia that seemed reluctant to leave me. Although I took the antibiotics regularly, I was hesitant to take any painkillers. In my experience, painkillers of any kind have a way of subtly numbing the mind until you don't even realize you're functioning at one quarter your potential. Instead, I uncoiled my legs from underneath me, and stretched them out carefully along the thick branch I had claimed as my own.

The tree I was currently reclined in was far away from the mansion to ensure I wouldn't be detected by any of the extraordinary mutants that resided within, but unfortunately, it was also distant enough to prevent me from seeing actual features instead of just dim outlines of shadow. I could've figured out which minds belonged to all the bodies in varying degrees of activity that could be seen through the windows, but that would require stretching out with my empathic sense. There were many mutants in that mansion that would sense that kind of intrusion. So I held back. Besides, it didn't really matter who I saw in the windows. They were all safe and sound and that was all I needed to know. Wasn't it? At least, that was the reason I gave myself. I wanted to make sure they were doing okay. Regardless of how they felt about me, I had broken my own personal cardinal rule over the years I had spent with them. I had allowed myself to get close. It had always been hammered into me that relationship, contacts to the world, would lead to nothing but trouble. Of course I chose to ignore that. And it was because of that foolish action that I sat in this tree in the darkness of night, watching them through the windows that seperated us. But at that moment, it didn't seem like enough. Stupidly, crazily, I had to get closer. I had to see Stormy's elaborate gardens, had to watch Jubilee's chest rise and fall as she slept, had to feel Rogue's beautiful red hair between my fingertips. It was suicide, I knew, but I jumped down from the tree regardless, and made a point of getting across the wide expanse of lawn as quickly as possible.

It wasn't overly difficult to conceal myself from the expansive selection of mutants in the mansion. My shields had proven themselves over the years; I knew I didn't have to worry about any of the telepaths in the mansion sensing my presence. If they weren't able to do it all those years ago, surely they couldn't do it now. I did have to worry about one mutant in particular, though. A short, bulky, gruff Canadian with a penchant for dealing out pain. Not three minutes in that place and Logan would've smelt me. I didn't exactly exude stink, but Logan's highly sensitive nose could pick up the stuffy leather smell of my jacket, the traces of cigarette smoke on my clothes, even down to the shampoo I had used on my hair the night before. Curiously, I had forgotten to put on aftershave after removing two days worth of stubble from my chin and jaw earlier in the day. It wasn't often that I forgot to do something like that, but at the moment, I was quite thankful I had. To disguise the other rather distinguishing scents that made of Eau du LeBeau, I pulled a pine air freshener out of an inner pocket of my jacket, pulled it out of it's plastic wrapping, and slipped it around my neck. The smell was strong enough to mask anything Logan might have associated with me, making him doubt himself just enough to let me alone. It was risky; I had seen first hand how good the man's nose was. But I was used to taking risks, and it's not like I had much to lose at that point.

I predictably made it to the mansion without incident, and slipped into the darkened sitting room off the equally dark kitchen. The moment I stepped onto the plush carpetting, an indescribable feeling washed over me. It was like a mixture of relief, and contentment, and ...home. I was home. I felt a strange clenching in my chest, and remarkably, tears came to my eyes. It was a sensation I had never experienced before, and for a long moment, I was unable to do anything but stand there and experience it. I hadn't spend much time in this room, but Rogue had. In fact, I would've bet money on it that it was her favourite place on the property. She used to love stretching out on the wicker couch opposite the huge bay window, reading a book and sunning herself like a cat. I know because I used to love watching her. I would stand outside, undercover under the branches of a nearby Elm tree, and just watch her. Sometimes for hours at a time, blowing off training sessions and pre-mission meetings, anything that stood in the way of seeing her look so damn peaceful. She never looked so calm and at peace when I was around, so any chance I had to witness it I exploited. My mind took me back to those days, and for a minute, I could almost see the room lighten, and her form take place on the printed flower cushion. But like so long ago, such a feeling couldn't last. A light clicked on in the adjoining kitchen, and I could hear a female voice singing a melodic tune under her breath. I was immediately reminded of a movie I watched with Jubilee once, some sci-fi deal starring a primetime actor from several years back. Even as I was looking for a place to conceal myself, I could hear the disembodied voice of the film's robot in my head: "Danger, Remy LeBeau! Danger!" I wasn't that crazy about the movie, it was too cheesy and predictable for my taste, but I loved the way Jubilee's head felt on my shoulder when she fell asleep halfway through. It was that feeling I held on to when the light above my head flicked on, and a strangled gasp sounded from the doorway. I turned slowly on my heel, fist clenching and unclenching in sudden anxiety.

Jean Grey stood in the doorway, a startled hand pressed to her lips, staring at me like I had two heads or something. She looked different, I decided, even as she opened her mouth and prepared to let forth the mother of all screams. Brighter, somehow, and then I noticed the swelling of her belly beneath her flannel pajamas. The shriek burst from her lips a second later, and in the confined space I bent forward and pressed my hands against my ears. I should've expected such a reaction, but hell, that's what I get for getting attached to people.

My ears gradually adjusted to the glass shattering sound, and I moved towards her a step, hands held at shoulder height, palms up in an outright show of defense. Her scream was cut off suddenly, and she simpled stared at me, blue eyes widened in shock. Her face had drained of all colour, like she had seen a ghost before her, instead of just an ex-team member. But then I realized, as I heard the kitchen door crash open behind her, that she had seen scarier things in her life than a simple ghost. I was sure she was screaming because she knew it was me, and not some spector, a figment of her imagination or trick of the light. So when Scott appeared in the doorway and took his wife in his arms, and Logan slipped around them and charged at me, I let him take me to the floor in a flying tackle. I let him knock the wind out of me until I was sure I was going to suffocate, I let him kneel on my chest and pin my arms above my head. After all the shit I had been through in the past six months, I didn't have the energy to deal anymore. He could've carved out my innards and served them to me on a silver platter, and I wouldn't have said boo.

I heard a slight whirring behind Logan's endless whispered threats of evisceration, and felt the power of Professor Xavier before actually seeing him. Although I would not admit it under penalty of death, the Professor fascinated me. There was no greater fool than the person who misjudged that man. He was living testament to the saying, "don't judge a book by it's cover." He was confined to a wheelchair, but only in a physical sense. The man had the kind of power most people couldn't imagine, let alone understand. I knew than that Jean's shriek had been just as much telepathic has it had been verbal. The Professor came forward, presumably after assuring Jean was alright, and laid a hand on Logan's shoulder in silent request to let me up. Logan consented, but only after promising me a fate worse than death if I misbehaved. I stood slowly, which was difficult with the Wolverine so close. I was metaphorically skewered with five pairs of eyes, as Bobby had joined the crowd in the past minute. His visage betrayed emotion that seemed to be the consensus; shock, anger, and the lesser seen guilt.

"'Ello, Professor,"I greeted quietly, passively ignoring the other bodies in the room. He held my gaze for a long second, before inclining his head slightly and replying, "I'm relieved to see you well, Gambit."

I could feel my eyebrows nearly disappear underneath my hair. "You are?"

He nodded after a brief hesitation, and a slight smile graced his lips. "I am. The wrong you have commited to this team will not be forgiven overnight, but that does not mean anyone here wishes you harm."

Logan snorted, a sound that suggested Charles speak for himself. The Professor diplomatically chose not to acknowledge it. "That being said, it does beg the question, what are you doing here? I would think that after the events of six months ago, you would not be eager to return."

I felt a blush beginning to rise to my cheeks, but was able to quell it before anyone took notice. I shrugged, trying and almost assuredly failing to look nonchalant. I didn't have anywhere else to go. But to tell these people would be giving them the biggest bargaining chip possible. I was not going to let them know exactly how much they had on me.

"I was in de neighbourhood, t'ought I'd drop by. See how everyone is, enh?" I blatantly looked past Logan and the Professor, staring openly at Jean and her expanding belly. "I see dere is a Fearless Leader junior on de way."

Scott moved toward me, an all too familiar menacing scowl on his face, but Jean stayed him with a hand on his arm. I was barely able to keep in the smirk. If we thought he was whipped before the pregnancy...

"I don't believe you." The mother to be fixed me with a stare of her own, unyielding, and I soon found myself becoming uncomfortable. I cleared my throat, shifted my weight from foot to foot, and eventually looked away. I knew it wasn't possible, but Jean had always given me the impression that she could read a person's thoughts through their eyes. Crazy, I know, but her gaze is just that intimidating.

"Now would be a good time to tell the truth,"Scott said, hands crossed firmly in front of his chest. "What are you doing here?"

I turned my eyes down to the toes of my boots. It would be so easy to lie again. To concoct some elaborate story to explain my presence; I'd done it before, and certainly couldn't call it a challenge. But in a strange turn of events, I felt like I owed these people more. The whole time I'd known them I'd done nothing but lie to their faces. Maybe things should be different now, maybe they deserved the truth. If I really wanted to come back here, be part of this team again, then I was going to have to make an effort. And that meant doing some things I wasn't entirely comfortable doing.

"Dere's nowhere else f' moi,"I muttered, without lifting my eyes from the floor.

If I had've looked up at that point, I would've seen the starburst smile flash across Jean's face. I would've seen the way she quieted Scott's and Logan's protests with her eyes. As it was, I only became aware that she had done anything when I felt the feather light touch of her hand on my arm. She wrapped her fingers around my wrist, and pulled gently, towards the kitchen.

"Welcome home, Remy,"she said softly.


	2. Chapter Two

A/N: More X-Men appearances in the next chapter. I want to thank everyone for their support of all my writing, and I can only hope that you enjoy this installment as much as you seem to the other ones. More updates are on the way, so please bear with me.

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"I just don't understand it."

I glanced up from the mug of hot chocolate Jean had fixed me. She had taken the seat across from me at the kitchen's marble island, chin resting in her hand as she watched me. I took a moment before replying, simply studying her face. She had always been beautiful, without a doubt, but now she glowed. There really wasn't any other way to describe it. Pregnancy was treating her well.

"Y' don't understand what, Jeannie?"

She stood from the bar stool with only marginal difficulty, and started pacing from the island to the fridge and back again, rubbing her tummy absent-mindedly with every step. "You just said you're not angry at Rogue. Now, don't misunderstand me. I love Rogue, she's one of my closest friends, and I know the troubles she's had because of her powers. But thinking of it from your perspective...I don't think I'd be able to forgive her. How can you do it?"

I said nothing for a long minute. Jean was brilliant, both in intelligence and power. But she could never truly understand the complexities of the relationship I shared with Rogue. I barely did half the time. I took another sip of hot chocolate.

"S' not dat easy,"I said softly. Jean stopped pacing, and sat back down, hanging off my words with rapt attention. "It's hard enough being me inside m' head. Rogue was t'rown in dere wit' all my t'oughts, most o' which ain't exactly butterflies and daffodils. If I have trouble being in dere, I couldn' expect her t' last long."

Jean favoured me with a look that could only be described as pitious. "You think she didn't know what she was doing when she left you there."

I was thankfully saved from answering when a figure appeared in the doorway. A tall, bulky, fuzzy, blue figure holding a medical bag in a hand so gargantuan it was almost funny. Almost. Jean had sent Scott, Logan, and Bobby away with very detailed instructions not to mention my return to anyone. Using her exact words, "You should settle in before everyone comes crashing through that doorway." I was glad she thought that way. Facing the others was going to be hard enough slowly, and one at a time. The idea of seeing them en masse made my heart beat just a little faster in my chest. I assumed she had called Hank telepathically, because he didn't look surprised to see me.

"Remy,"he said softly, inclining his great furry head in my direction.

I didn't respond. Truth is I didn't have any idea what to say. Hank had always been particularly hard for me to read, even with my empathic skills. But my secondary mutation had been out of whack lately, and I was hesitant to try to use it. I couldn't tell if the crinkling I noticed in his forehead was a result of concern, or anger.

He set his bag of supplies on the island, and turned to look at Jean. I was suddenly struck by the sensation of a conversation taking place quite literally over my head. Again, hesitant to use my powers as I was, I was helpless to do anything but stare and hope that eventually they would let me in.

Turns out I was in luck. After about a minute, Hank nodded minutely and turned to regard me once more. "Jean suggested I give you a rudimentary exam. There are certain health risks to being...uh..well, that is..." He stared down at his hands, clearly flustered.

My eyes widened quite noticeably in surprise. In all the years I've known Hank McCoy, I've never seen him at loss for words, and he really seemed to be drowning here.

"S'okay, Bete,"I said even as he looked to Jean for some kind of help. "Y'can say it."

"...exposed to the elements, as you were,"he finished finally. His gaze was even and strong, holding my eyes in his sights almost as if he didn't want me to misread him. I chose to ignore it. There were important and certainly more stressful things on my mind than the subtlties of Hank's intentions. He opened his medical bag and pulled out a stethoscope. "Would you remove your jacket and shirt, please?"

The muscles in my face went slack, and I could feel my jaw dropping to the floor. I glanced at Jean for some kind of clarification, but she did nothing but shrug her shoulders and smile. "Y' serious? Y'want t'do dis here?"

Hank looked up from his preparations on the island, and I searched for some kind of sign of the practical joke that was assuredly about to take place. But one thing I had learned about the doctor over the years was that he doesn't lie well. It was the main reason why Bobby and I used to leave him out of whatever complicated caper we were planning that week. And it was the same reason why I could look at him now and know that he was seriously intent on conducting this exam in the mansion's kitchen.

Jean slid off her stool to remove the doorstop and shut the swinging door.

"Remy, if I remember correctly, you hold some kind of adverse reaction to the medlab, and anything that resembles it. While you have never shared with me why, I am no less reluctant to believe you. So instead of asking Jean to bring you to me, I came to you. Alright?"

I took a moment to even out my breathing, and nodded tersely. Jean had remained on this side of the door when she had closed it; clearly she planned to give some kind of assistance for whatever Hank had planned on doing. I didn't like it one bit. There were things about me that Hank, as a professional medical doctor would understand, and overlook as best he could. Jean wouldn't be so forgiving.

I made a day of slipping out of my duster, folding it up neatly and slinging over the back of an empty counter stool. The rattling of the pills in one of my inner pockets echoed in the silence of the room, but neither Jean nor Hank reacted. The dark brown, button up shirt I had picked up somewhere in my travels was difficult to manage through gloved hands, but I wasn't about to shed them. Hank seemed to notice this, but the only sign was a slight raising of his eyebrow. My breathing had sped up somewhere in the past couple of minutes, and my heartbeat was keeping a fast tempo in my ears. I didn't want them to see this. Either of them. I had spent hours staring in the mirror since...Antarctica, and if I didn't like what I saw I really doubted they would. But they continued to stare, apparently oblivious to how difficult this was for me.

Suddenly angry at their non-chalance, I ripped open the last few buttons, tore the shirt off my shoulders and slammed it down on the island. Jean's sharp intake of air was like a gunshot going off. I closed my eyes softly, mortified at the blush I felt creeping into my cheeks, but I could still feel their eyes burning holes in my skin. I felt rather than heard Hank take a step closer. His touch on my back was light, but I sub-consciously flinched away nonetheless. His fingertips traced a scar across my back, from the top of the right shoulder blade down to the bottom of the left side of my ribcage.

"How did these happen?"he asked, and I was arrogantly satisfied to hear the shock in his tone. He moved on to another scar, this one a little deeper that ran down the length of my spine, parellel to it. His fingers counted my vertabrae that stuck out too far for my liking.

"I got off de...de island, but not wit'out a price."

I could feel the tension in the air thicken as they both searched for a meaning behind my words. They weren't going to get it from me.

Hank cleared his throat. "Well, this will take nothing but a moment. I'd like to listen to your breathing."

I nodded, but didn't open my eyes. I didn't want to watch him work, to see him react to the story of my life as told by old scars and injuries. But more importantly, I couldn't bear to see the pity I would unquestionably find in their eyes.

The cold, circular feel of metal against my back told me Hank was getting started. I followed his orders, taking as deep a breath as I could manage on command, waiting patiently while he listened both sides front and back. After what seemed to be a lifetime, he stepped away and told me quietly that I could put my shirt back on. I thrust my arms into the sleeves, and didn't even wait to button it up before throwing my duster on overtop. There was nothing more important in that moment than putting on as many layers as I could, creating as thick a barrier as I could between me and them. I set to the task of doing up the shirt, which was a chore much to difficult for my trembling hands to manage. In evident sympathy for my rather sorry condition, Jean slid over and relieved me of my duties. With a soft smile she took my hands in hers, and set them on the countertop. Her steady fingers conquered the shirt in less time than it took for Hank to put his stethoscope away. Her long-nailed, deceptively strong hands smoothed the wrinkles from the fabric, and while her left hand fell back to her side, her right remained against my chest. The warmth of her skin was transfered through the thick cotton, and sent tingles up and down my side. Again, she smiled with a tenderness that made my eyes suspiciously watery.

"Remy, I do believe you are suffering from a case of rather severe pneumonia, but I'd like to take some x-rays to be certain."

Embarrassed, I stepped away from Jean. "Y'don't need t'do dat, Bete." I pulled the bottles of medication out of my jacket pocket and set them down on the counter. "I'll save ye de trouble, enh?"

A frown creased Hank's forehead as he reached out and picked up them up in a great meaty paw. "When did you get these?"he asked, after a brief moment spent reading the label.

I shrugged. "Dunno. Bout t'ree, four months mebbe. Un docteur in Australia was willin' to help out a po' sick Cajun."

He handed back the vials, and I slipped them into a different pocket. "Remy, these antibiotics are supposed to be taken according to a strict regimen. I see that you haven't been following it. If you had, I wouldn't have been able to detect the pneumonia at all."

I made a face. "Yeah, well, dere isn't always time."

"What are the painkillers for?" I glanced up at him to catch his gaze. The lecture waiting in his eyes was obvious; it was the same one he had given me a thousand times already about following the doctor's orders. Lucky for me he appeared to realize I really wasn't in the mood for another lecture.

"Don' really know. He prescribed dem, but I don' take dem."

His look turned flat, and I knew that while I was an exceptional liar, I hadn't fooled him.

"Take off your gloves, Remy."

"Why?"

Hank's concerned look turned deadpan. "I don't really have to answer that, do I?"

My silence and outright refusal to look him in the eye angered the doctor. Frustration sharpened his words as he explained his reasoning. "Because frostbite is a high risk when exposed to cold temperatures. Because it can deaden skin and tissue, and in the worse cases, leave amputation as the only option. Because while I don't know you as well as some, I know that your stubborn defiance to show any sign of weakness is not only ridiculous in every aspect, but dangerous to your health, as has been proven in the past. Now I ask again, please show some sliver of common sense and allow me to examine your hands."

For a long moment, I didn't say anything. Couldn't say anything. I had served up quite a lot of crap in the time I had spent in this mansion, and it had always been Hank who ended up dealing with it. He had never been anything but patient with me, but it seemed that even the steadiest of people have their breaking points. I sighed softly. The nylon/polyester blend my gloves were made of were great for concealing fingerprints, but they had a tendency to stick to open wounds. But the time I had peeled them off both hands and deposited them on the counter, all the creases in Hank's face had melted away.

"Oh, Remy." He took my hands in his own with a tenderness that sometimes astonished me to know he was capable of. He had been right on the money with his concerns. A somewhat mild case of frostbite had deadened most of the skin on both my hands, and while for a time it had been solid black in some places, they had long since blistered over. The problem now was that the original blisters had never healed, and new ones continued to form over the older ones. It all left my hands a bloody, festering mess.

"Jesus,"Jean breathed, moving closer to Hank's side.

The doctor looked up at me, all traces of his earlier frustration long gone. "I trust your feet are in a similar condition?"

This time I could honestly shake my head. "Non. Lucky for me, I put socks on dat morning. Dey not so bad."

He shook his head slowly, then said, "Jean, my dear, could you please pass me some benadine scrub, and the four by four gauze?"

She immediately complied, carrying the requested items to the kitchen sink as Hank led me over by the wrists. "I will not lie to you, this will hurt a great deal. But it is entirely necessary to ward off the infection that is developing."

My eyes fell closed and I nodded. I never really had a problem with pain, either in the physical or mental state. In my experience, it was a way of life and a young child growing up on the streets learns quickly how to deal with it. But when Hank poured his betadine on my hands, and started scrubbing away at them, I saw stars. My knees went weak with the sharp, blinding pain, and I had to prop myself up against the counter to avoid kissing the floor. Jean was at my side in an instant, wrapping an arm around my waist and lending her support.

Fortunately for me, Hank worked quickly, and before the pain even receded, I noticed he was finished. He patted them dry with a handful of papertowels, then applied a thin layer of aloe vera cream.

"You'll need to get these bandages changed twice a day to avoid infection. Either Jean or myself could do it. I will prescribe a new round of antibiotics, and you will take them on schedule if you value your hide."

He smiled to take the harsh edge out of his words, and I nodded. Whether I could actually prove capable of doing so remained to be seen, but he didn't need to know that. He placed several pieces of gauze over the worst of the damage, and then wrapped both hands with a cotton mesh. He secured the bandaging with medical tape attaching the whole shebang to my wrist.

"I realise I may be wasting my breath by saying this, but it would do you well to limit the use of your hands. The healing process will begin much faster that way."

I didn't want to mention to him that I might need to use my hands to defend myself in the days to come. Jean flashed her starburst smile at Hank, probably for putting up with my stubbornness and not throttling me for it. She turned the look on me.

"Nobody touched your room, Remy. Do you want to go see it?"

Even without my empathic talents, I could read the hidden meaning in her words. To go see my room would be to leave this kitchen, and that would put me on neutral ground. In other words, there would be nothing between me and the others. Nothing, that is, except for a red-headed spitfire. I glanced over at Hank, and he favoured me with a soft smile. It occurred to me then that throughout the years I had known them, it had always been these two that came to me aid. There was a third that could fit into that category, but after learning of my past I doubted she would even look at me. But as a true test to the character of these two X-Men, they put behind whatever it was they were feeling, and gave me something I didn't deserve. Kindness. And I wasn't going to make them regret it.

"Sure, Jeannie. Let's go."

...to be continued...


End file.
